I still think about you. I wish that I didn’t. It only makes me sad and angry. No one I’ve ever met has treated me worse than you did. And I still struggle to understand why. I struggle to understand what it was I did, other than love you in spite of yourself and your circumstances, to merit the pain you inflicted on me.
I still remember the first time I saw you when I was 16 years old, almost eleven years ago. If I’d only known then how much pain you would cause me, how many tears I would shed over you, and for how long our doomed relationship would rule my thoughts, dreams, and nightmares, I might have run the other direction.
It’s not like you hurt me physically, although I think sometimes it would be easier to forgive you for such behavior, as most of the time it’s easier to explain. What you did to me runs much deeper. You hurt me in areas that I didn’t know could hurt. You broke parts of my heart that I didn’t know could be broken. You can credit yourself with bringing me to the lowest point I have ever been at in my entire life. The point at which I felt utterly hopeless, completely worthless, and like I’d never be happy again. There were parts of me that I thought could never be healed. Parts that would always be broken. I remember thinking that I would never find a man who would love me more than he loved himself.
A little over a year ago, I lay in your arms crying. You were passed out from drinking too much. I placed my hand over your rapidly beating heart and, sobbing quietly to myself, begged God in prayer to save your tortured, dysfunctional soul. I asked for a miracle in your life and in mine. I cried out for help. Thank God for delivering me from you a few months later.
I am lucky to serve a God that never gave up on me. He never left me. And he is restoring and healing me in ways that no one else in heaven or on earth can. When all else fails and everyone else fails me, he does not. He is faithful.
I know that’s something you can’t understand. Being faithful.
I can only thank your brother for revealing to me what I had suspected all along; that you were a liar. You’d lied about almost everything. You were dating and/or sleeping with at least two other women, your home was nearing foreclosure, you had no job, and no real plan to find one, you were relying on your friends to pay your bills, and no, you didn’t really have brain cancer. That was the lie that made me feel most foolish. Who lies about having a terminal disease? And why?
I can’t tell you how many tears I’ve shed for you. Tears of anger, longing, sadness, and self-loathing. Tears of frustration, helplessness, loneliness and pity. Tears of grief, mourning, and rejection. I’ll bet you never knew there were so many different kinds of tears. It’s unfortunate that I can’t remember any tears of happiness shed for you.
Sometimes I think you might suffer from multiple personality disorder. I do remember a kind, funny, gentle man that surfaced on a few occasions. Maybe that man is the man you wish you could be all the time. Or maybe he was a lie too.
I don’t know why you felt like you had to lie to me. I accepted you as you were, and I told you that. I didn’t care that you’d been divorced twice and had a two-year-old son. I just wanted to be with you. One of the last times I saw you, I told you I wanted to move to Oklahoma to be with you; that I was tired of waiting to be with you. You told me you had to get yourself straightened out and work on some things, and until you did, you wouldn’t be any good to anyone. You said you wanted to be with me, and I told you I would wait. I’m glad I didn’t.
I’ve decided that if I can survive you, I can survive anything. I just pray that you survive yourself. I pray that you won’t be able to hurt anyone else like you hurt me. I pray that you won’t call or text me ever again. And I pray that you will fade into the back of my memory, with only the scars you left on my heart to remind me of how far God has brought me and how I never want to go back there again.
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